That Coat
by mintbanana
Summary: Why does Mimi always wear that ratty old leopard skin coat? Oneshot. Rated for language and drug use. Please R


Disclaimer: insert appropriately witty and thought provoking disclaimer here

Random idea sparked from a conversation between a friend and I about how much we hated Mimi's leopard skin coat.

Also, I don't speak Spanish. I used an online translator, so if the teeny bit of Spanish is wrong, feel free to order me to correct it.

**That Coat**

"Cold today huh?" Mark murmured as they walked back to the loft from the 7/11, his voice muffled by his omnipresent scarf. Mimi nodded, pulling her hat down further over her ears in agreement. Finding that it really didn't help a whole lot, she gripped the collar of her coat and wrenched it up, hiding the lower part of her face. Mark glanced over.

"Why do you wear that thing?" Mimi frowned.

"What thing? This?" She gestured at the moth eaten faux fur that currently seemed to be eating her.

"Yes that." Mimi indignantly asked what was wrong with it, making the cameraman roll his eyes.

"For one, it's disgusting. Look at it, it's bulky and sags in all the wrong places and when was the last time you washed it? It's barely even the right colours anymore. And another thing… why are you staring at me like that?" Mimi stopped walking, folded her arms and quirked an eyebrow.

"You know Mark; you coulda just _told_ me you were gay. I'm a freakin' lap dancer for god's sake! It's not like I can be judgemental."

"I. Am. Not. Gay" Mark seethed. "It's Roger again isn't it? He's telling you to do this, I swear I'm gonna kill him…" Mimi laughed, grabbing the bottom of his scarf and tickling his cheek.

"Calm down you _teatro Reina_, I was only teasing." Mark scowled and shoved his hands in his pockets, and the pair continued their journey back to the loft.

XxX

Back in her own apartment for the time being (she spent 90 percent of her time upstairs with Roger and Mark nowadays, Collins too if he was around) Mimi slowly unbuttoned the old leopard skin coat and slid it off, carefully draping it over the back of one of her chairs. She rested a hand on it briefly before heading for the bathroom to have a shower.

As she tried unsuccessfully to keep the shampoo out of her eyes, she thought back to what Mark had said about the coat. It wasn't like it was the only coat she had; it was just that she always wore it. Except in summer cos that would have been stupid. In fact, she didn't like it much more than Mark did. She was just used to it by now, and she didn't want to stop wearing it because…

Well, she'd promised hadn't she?

XxX

She hadn't known Milly all that well, but better than most. She was skinny, unhealthily so, and her blonde hair was lifeless and often dirty. She had track marks on the insides of her elbows and knees and permanent panda eyes. Also, she tended to pounce on the dancers from the Catscratch for a share of their stash, since she couldn't afford to keep buying from a dealer. Mimi had heard from one of the other girls that Milly had been a dancer at the club, and a favourite with the regulars. But her addiction and later diagnosis of HIV had made her miss too many shows and she was cut loose. Mimi shared with her a few times, or gave her cigarettes as they stood outside the club, but they never talked much. Milly wasn't much for conversation, except for the odd impassioned rant on the shittiness of life in general. One thing that Mimi always noticed was that no matter what the weather, Milly always wore the same moth-eaten leopard skin coat. It was ugly, and reeked of cigarette smoke and alcohol, but Milly wore it rain or shine with all the pride of a queen in a coronation gown.

"Why d'you wear that thing?" she'd asked once, lighting up a cigarette as the pair stood outside the club. Milly took a drag on her own and slowly exhaled.

"Gotta keep my AZT somewhere, you know how it is," she murmured. Mimi nodded grimly, having recently been found positive for HIV herself.

"Is that all?" Milly glanced at her.

"You're talkative today kid." Receiving a shrug in response, she took one last long pull on the cigarette and stubbed it out against the wall. "I guess… it's just so I don't forget."

"Forget?" Milly laughed at that.

"Rule 1 of New York City kid: don't ask people for their life story. Still, you're alright, so I guess I'll tell you a little bit. Back when I first started out here at the 'Scratch, I was pretty darn good, you know? Always looked good, danced good, talked good, you know the stuff. Never touched anything more than a cigarette and the odd drink or three. Then I met this guy, and everything changed. It was like flyin' you know? Older guy, showing little old me the ways of the world. He gave me this coat. Said it suited me, I went with it. Then came the smack. Oh, I shoulda said no, but once you try it, there's no going back. You remember?" Mimi nodded, a finger idly trailing over the needle marks on her own arm.

"Things turned shitty pretty quickly after that. Just all highs and lows and getting wasted night after night. Guy ran out on me, I ran outta money, then I find out I've got HIV. Lost my job and I've got no family in town. Nowhere left to go really. All I've got is this coat. It reminds me of the days I had everything. And it's all I got to hold on to. You understand?" Mimi didn't. Not really. But she nodded and puffed on her cigarette and said goodbye for the night. Talking to Milly only gave you stories that never had a happy ending.

A few weeks later, Milly stopped showing up at the club. Mimi thought nothing of it; maybe she was job hunting. Or drug hunting. Either way, she wasn't looking for a share in Mimi's stash anymore. Soon though, much against her better judgement, she started feeling a little worried. She asked around, but no one knew anything. Eventually, one of the older girls at the club told her that Milly had got sick, and been carted off to the hospital. After a couple of days of deliberation, Mimi decided that she should probably visit. Milly had no one, that's what she'd said, right?

She still didn't like hospitals. The clinic was bad enough, but the wards were just plain depressing. She moved through the corridor quickly, the small bunch of half wilted flowers she held getting a little squashed in her too tight grip. The nurse had told her that Milly was suffering from a severe case of pneumonia, and probably wouldn't be up for speaking much. Still, she'd said, it would be good for the poor girl to have a visitor.

Milly was obviously in very bad shape. Mimi couldn't see much of her underneath the oxygen tent they'd installed around her bed, but as she stepped closer, the other girl shifted in order to see her guest.

"Well hey there kid," she rasped, her voice weak and her throat obviously raw from coughing. "Come to say bye to me huh?" Mimi laughed nervously.

"Don't say that. You'll get better soon." She sat down by the bed and placed the flowers on the bedside table before gently laying a hand over Milly's. She noticed that the girl was skinnier than ever, the hospital bracelet on her wrist hanging limp and loose. Milly laughed a little, although soon stopped when it turned into a violent coughing fit.

"Listen to me kid," she managed finally. "I'm done. Look at me; I ain't getting outta here unless I'm headed for the morgue. No, I'm finished. But you're not. You're still alive. I've made a lot of bad choices, and so have you, but I'm telling you, get off the smack. Get out of that dive of a club. Go back to school and get yourself a nice fella who'll give you everything you need. You're pretty and you're smart, you could go far. Just don't end up in here, like… me." She started coughing again, fighting to draw in rough gasps of air and Mimi rose to hit the buzzer and call the doctor, but Milly laid a hand on her arm.

"Wait a minute. Look, over there. You see my coat?" Mimi looked, saw the tatty old faux fur hanging on the end of the bed, and nodded.

"Take it. Take it and wear it. It never did me a damn bit of good, but maybe you can do better than me. Shit happens kid, we both know that. Just promise me you'll wear it and you'll remember what happened to me, and you'll remember what you were and what you could be. I'm through kid, but I don't want you following me just yet. Got it?" Mimi nodded again and whispered her promise, and as Milly withdrew her hand, she hit the buzzer and rose from the chair by the bed. As she headed for the door, she hesitated before scooping up the old jacket from the end of the bed and leaving quickly. She made it back to Avenue B before she realised she was crying, still hugging the jacket to her, and not quite sure why she was finding it so hard to stop the tears from falling.

XxX

It was nearing three years now since Milly had died, and Mimi had remained faithful to her promise. She still wasn't entirely sure why she had kept that particular promise, but just as Roger held on to the painful memories he had of April, and Collins of Angel, she held on to that grubby old jacket, still smelling faintly of cigarettes and booze. Smiling a little as she towelled her hair dry, she laid her hand on it briefly again, before discarding the towel and wandering out onto the balcony. It was freezing now, the hard frost in the air 'enough to freeze your face off, and your ass besides' as Milly would have said. Conscious of the fact that her hair was still wet, she lit a cigarette, took a quick drag and then threw it from the balcony, whispering "this one's for you Milly. I'm still here, and I found the guy you told me to find. I'm off the smack and I'm still pretty damn alive." Grinning as the wind caught the still lit cigarette and whirled it away through the night, she turned and climbed the fire escape to the loft above, eager to get away from her empty apartment and into the company of friends.

-End-

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